Sometimes I wake up hyperventilating. When it all comes back to me.
I went in to work on a Saturday. The boys were with me.
Emmett was about three years old at the time. I looked up, and he had a marker in his hand.
From the corner of my eye, I saw—Ohmygodno, no, no—a marker mark on the wall.
I shot to my feet and raced to the mark. It ran toward the corner. And around. And all the way down the hall.
In a movie, the camera shot would shift to the outside of the building and zoom away to the sound of a yell: Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
All I can say is: God bless the facilities workers who scrubbed the marks off the wall. You could almost not see it afterward.
Wait, I can say one more thing: Emmett, Ya Goof!
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